When the Dust Settles
by little-starling
Summary: Chapter three posted. HouseCam. Dramatic beginnings, angst filled centre and a happy ending. Well thats the plan. Reviews are considered most kind. x
1. Chapter 1

Title:When the Dust Settles

Author:Little-Starling

Rating:PG (M in later chapters)

Spoilers:None

Authors Notes:I'm not really sure where I plan to go with this fic. Any suggestions would be appreciated. Reviews are considered most kind; constructive criticisms are welcomed but please, no flames. This is my first House fic. Thanks.

Cameron became partially aware of two things almost simultaneously. One was the slow, deep sound of her breath entering then escaping her body. An almost melodic sound, the low tone of rushing air held her attention for an indeterminate amount of time. The second thing was the darkness her current world was made of. On some level beyond her reach she knew that her eyes were closed, but for now her mind could only accept that there was blackness and the sound of her breath. She floated in that state for seconds, minutes, perhaps hours, with consciousness creeping, sliding towards her in degrees. She very slowly became aware of the world outside her mind. Her body, faraway noises and words, touches and pressure entered her consciousness without her knowledge, without her permission, and for a moment she felt the skin on her face pull with what she wouldn't know was a grimace. The hypnotic sound and feeling of clean, oxygen rich air being pulled and pushed from her body began to fade pushed into banality by the sounds of an a-typical hospital room.

It surprised her how quickly the world shifted into focus. Like a movie reel accidentally knocked onto the wrong speed, her consciousness rushed into the present with a stomach sickening speed and clarity. She attempted to roll her tongue around her mouth and stopped when it stuck dryly to the floor of her mouth, her chapped lips pulling from the slight movement. The familiar smells of antiseptic disinfectant, dry warm air and clean linen assaulted her nose as she concentrated on taking deep even breaths, and she was thankful to whoever had been considerate enough to lower the lights when she attempted to open her eyes. Only one eye seemed willing to co-operate and she blinked repeatedly in an attempt to clear the blurriness and bring the fuzzy shapes into focus. One heavy hand moved of its own violation towards her other eye and she stopped dead when a lancing pain, a shock to her heavily drugged body, stabbed below her elbow. She wasn't aware of making any sound, but the whimper must have been loud enough to draw the attention of the person in the room she didn't realise was there until she felt a cool hand lightly grasp her upper arm. Eye haven given up the fight to stay open, she relied on other instincts to identify the caregiver. The touch was unfamiliar…

" Stop wriggling, you'll pull your stitches and as keen as you seem to be, I'm not sure Dr Remeres is up for a second date. Not entirely sure why, that's usually when all the good stuff happens."

But the voice, the low, gravely tones laced with a dry wit and sarcasm, that voice she knew as well as her own. The hand that had been gently holding her in place disappeared and she tried once more to open her eyes. The same eyelid opened with less strain and she silently stared at the blurry figure of Dr Gregory House as he lifted a hospital issue plastic cup to her mouth and slipped the hospital issue plastic straw between her lips. With more effort than she cared to admit she slurped messily, confused when her skin tightened un-naturally in doing so. The cup was taken away from her and she rolled her now damp tongue around her mouth, swallowing several times to moisten her parched throat. Her first attempt at speech was embarrassing. A slight squeak followed by a rush of air roughly formed into words. Before she had a chance to try again his gruff voice interrupted, his tone indicating annoyance.

" Stop. You sound like a dying chipmunk. I'll tell you what you want to know if you promise not to attempt movement or speech again."

Her eyesight was clearing slightly and she could now focus on the bright blue of his eyes rather than the dull blue of his shirt. His face was tight and scowling and she fought through the drug-induced mist to remember what she had done to piss him off.

" Three days ago your overly nosy and sickeningly sweet neighbour called the police after she heard a disturbance at your house. The cops found you beaten unconscious on your ruined living room rug and brought you here. The cops picked up your EX boyfriend some four blocks away and after taking a look at his knuckles, charged him with assault and battery. Differential diagnosis was a broken wrist, fractured cheekbone, two fractured ribs, an inconvenient and allusive internal bleed and the worst taste in boyfriends ever to have graced the whiteboard. There's some bruising of course from where Calvin, affectionately nicknamed Asshole around these parts, pummelled your back and face when breaking bones didn't do it for him."

Cameron felt the salt from her tear sting a cut she didn't know she had on her lip. Flashbacks from the night it had supposedly happened flickered across the back of her eyelids like a disjointed movie, too fleeting to hold on to, too painful to want to. New pains let themselves be known as she struggled to control herself, her chest and back warring over who could shock her more as she worked to swallow the rising sob lodged painfully in her throat and stop the subtle shaking beneath the light blue sheets covering her but not comforting. She hadn't even realised that she had closed her eye during his rant, and started slightly when she felt a large, cool hand press gently against the side of her face not mottled in shades of brown, black and blue. A thumb swept the moisture from her cheek before it had a chance to go any further and she leaned into the touch when his voice broke the silence she so desperately wanted broken. His voice was deeper than it had been just moments ago, closer, and the sarcasm that he was never without was absent from his first words.

" Your injuries will heal just fine. Three months from now you'll be completely normal, well, as normal as you were before which isn't saying much."

A smile tugged warily at her lips and she opened her eye as his hand slipped away. She could focus relatively easy now and took a moment to cast her eyes around the room before turning to study the bright white cast adorning her right arm.

"I hear they're all the rage this season. Go with everything"

She ignored his comment and continued her self examination, turning her eyes to her left arm and noticing not the needle bruising her flesh on the back of her hand, but the brown finger mark bruises around her wrist and upper arm. Well spaced and spanning a considerable part of her arm she knew whose hands had made them; she didn't need fingerprints or House to tell her. Movement caught her eye and she glanced upwards in time to see House closing the plastic cover of her morphine regulator.

" House, stop"

His voice and the morphine assaulted her system at the same time and any argument she may have had in regards to her meds faded away on a wave of numbness.

" Stop? Do you have any idea what some people would do to get their hands on this stuff? It's primo gear man! And I think I remember telling you not to speak, Alvin may no longer be dying but he's definitely in the process of a sex change. Get some sleep, I'll come up later."

She nodded her head as much as she could and watched as he cast a cursory check on her readouts. A myriad of questions dreamily floated across her mind as she watched him. Why did this happen? How long had he been here? Where were Chase and Foreman? Did her parents know? How long would she be a patient? When did….

"Closing your eyes, or eye in this case is usually conducive to sleep"

Her focus turned outwards once more to settle on the features she knew so well. Morphine was making the fight to stay awake more difficult with each passing second but she struggled against it, her mind duelling its need to know with its need to rest. Her inner conflict must have been easily read. When he spoke his voice was strangely calming and gentle, a far cry from what she was accustomed to.

"Your questions will still be there when you wake up"

She held eye contact for as long as she could before a lump formed in her throat and she cast her gaze down. Perhaps it was the drugs currently pumping through her system, perhaps it was a reaction to the abuse her body had suffered or perhaps it was the look in his eye as he gazed down at her. Possibly it was all three. Her thoughts were blending into each other and she felt disconnected in a good way to the pain in her body. Her eye flickered once, twice, snapshots of blue, blue shirt, ice blue eyes, black jacket, and blackness………

Continue?


	2. Chapter 2

Title:When the Dust Settles

Author:Little-Starling

Rating:PG (M in later chapters)

Spoilers:None

Authors Notes:Firstly let me thank you all for your overwhelming support for my first chapter. Your reviews spurred me into finishing a second chapter I hadn't planned to post till next week. This chapter follows directly from the last. Enjoy.

The slight squeak of rubber against the tiled floor, as well as the waves of repressed anger and exhaustion was enough to keep any well-meaning nurses, inquisitive doctors and annoyingly cheerful volunteers away as House made his way determinately to his sanctuary and away from the glass house where Cameron lay broken and bruised. He entered the office with a lopsided stride and immediately moved to the blinds, snapping them closed with a finality no one would question. He stood still for a moment in the semi darkness, his breath loud in the sudden quietness, his eyes glinting a little too brightly, his left hand massaging his damaged thigh with caution.

"Son of a bitch!"

The bang of his hand against the glass resounded around the office long after he had slammed his palm against it. The sting of bruised flesh was welcomed as he hobbled, cane abandoned on the sofa, to his desk and flopped down bonelessly to his seat. Picking up a remote he hit a button and closed his eyes as the soft strains of Ivan Moravec filled the air around him, the melancholy notes matching the swell of emotion currently bubbling beneath the surface.

Cameron.

How was it possible that one word could evoke such emotion? Two Vicodin swallowed dry didn't help clarify.

Three days ago had been the same as any other. An eventual correct diagnosis, lying relatives, clinic hell, Cuddy avoidance, Wilson annoyance and Forman and Chase questioning his preferred methods of treatment. The only difference had been the absence of Cameron. She had taken a day annual leave that he had apparently ok'd weeks before, or so she reminded him at the end of her previous shift. He had grudgingly conceded and had then made the mistake of offering a glib and offensive list of reasons as to why she so desperately needed a full day. Her response had been tentative, his first warning, and she had blushed slightly when she informed him of her fifth date with her new beau, Calvin. Calvin. Asshole.

They had apparently arranged to spend the day together, something about a picnic in the park and an open-air movie. Of course, thinking back now it could have been a parade and an open air skydive for all he had listened after hearing the assholes name. Even now, lulled into the memory by the gentle tones of the piano, he could visualise his expression as she had smiled prettily with excitement and expectation. Asshole. At that point he hadn't known much of the man currently held in custody. He had caught snippets of conversation as Cameron informed Foreman and Chase, on separate occasions, of date one and two. He had gleamed the rest of his information by mercilessly teasing and provoking Cameron herself, verbally twisting her arm until she hit back with a retort that gave him the information he needed coated in an answer that not so subtly highlighted why Calvin was a better man than he. Yeah right.

Calvin Anderson was a thirty four year old community activist. Born in England he had moved with his parents to New York when he was still a child and had, by the time he had finished his schooling, volunteered at every shelter, soup kitchen and charity event in the state.

House tapped the intricate finger sequence in time with the music as he smiled slightly in recollection.

He had immediately identified her attraction.

They had apparently met at a church fete, of all places, near to where she lived. Cameron had been dropping bags of old clothes, books and shoes at the rear entrance and Calvin had been the volunteer helping out for the day. He had answered the door when she knocked, their eyes met across the bags of rubbish at their feet, time slowed down, bla bla bla. House opened his eyes and glared at the room in general. He rubbed at the lingering tingle in his palm and sighed heavily. It was only at this time, in the dark and quiet of his office, and in the privacy of his own mind would he admit that he had been agonisingly, heart wretchedly, sickeningly jealous. He knew he had had the chance of something with her, several chances in fact, and that he had rejected her and her advances on too many occasions. But the prospect of her meeting, and worse, feeling something other than friendship for another man had never registered in his consciousness. Calvin had been the equivalent of a buckle of ice water over his head and a simultaneous kick in the gut. And the worst of it was, he knew she knew it. She of course had played the part of the adult in the situation and had either ignored his juvenile comments or put him in his place with a verbal slap of her own. In the five hellish weeks they had dated he had nearly doubled his Vicodin intake and had put a fair dent in the hours he owed the clinic.

Being miserable in his office while she laughed happily in the room next door had made the clinic an attractive alternative. It had been almost worth the look on Cuddy's face alone. Almost.

Thinking back, he should have noticed the almost imperceptible change in the days before their last meeting. It wasn't anything physical. She still smiled and laughed and glowered when appropriate. She smiled or scowled at his needling and went about her business in the usual professional and caring manner. But now, staring at the play of dust in the vertical shafts of light cutting across his office, now he could remember a certain, something, in her eyes as she had spoken to him that day. He wouldn't have described it as fear if asked, nor sadness. If asked, the best, most fitting word would have been trepidation. Tightness across her shoulders, a crease between her eyebrows, an almost hesitant smile as she left the office for the night. Why hadn't he seen it before?

A surge of self-loathing crawled upwards from his stomach and he quickly sat straight, his mouth filling with saliva as his body prepared itself for the possibility of regurgitation. Taking a deep breath he forced his stomach to quieten and swallowed the excess fluid with hard though quiet gulps.

Sagging once more against the soft leather of his chair he ran a hand across his face. A slight rattling and a quiet whoosh of air signalled the door opening and he turned in his chair in time to see Wilson closing the glass behind him.

"How many times do I need to repeat myself? The blinds are closed, the door is closed…. and this means?"

Wilson looked mildly amused.

"Is this the same as the stethoscope on the door handle thing?"

House continued to glare menacingly for a moment before giving up his false anger with a sigh and a slump.

"Yeah, the same. The hookers getting changed in the conference room, I spotted leather, you've got thirty seconds."

Wilson rolled his eyes and sunk into the soft foam of the sofa. It was with his head resting on the curve at his neck that he next spoke.

" Thought you might like to know. Cameron's showing signs of coming around, I wasn't sure if you wanted to be…"

Wilson's head jerked upwards with the sudden motion from the right side of the room. House was before him before he could form an appropriate sentence. The cane he hadn't noticed was snatched from the seat beside him and he watched in muted amusement and concern as the glass door swung softly behind his friends retreating back.

It was the presence of a nurse that woke her. Her eye opened blearily and she identified the blurry shape and colour of the uniform worn by the staff on this floor. The visit was a silent and short affair and Cameron was almost sad when the soft noise of the glass door sliding shut signalled her isolation again. The temptation to slip back into a drug enhanced sleep was a temptation, one she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to fight, but in her weakened state the effort of maintaining lucidity was the only thing she had left to work on. Damned if she was going to make this easy for herself.

The struggle became easier the more time ticked by and soon she was able to remain alert with little effort. Her eyes turned slightly to the machine beeping softly to the left and she sighed carefully as the numbers swam into each other, making their readability impossible. Left with nothing but her thoughts, almost immediately a pattern of questions spread across her mind, and like the numbers, they swam into each other, confusing her. There was one question stamped firmly on her consciousness and try as she might, she couldn't for the life of her form an answer. What had happened? She hazily recalled her last day at work, or what she thought had been her last day. Was it possible she had lost more than her dignity and strength? Had she lost time? She remembered Calvin, his handsome face swimming in front of her closed eye. Was House right? Had he done this to her? Was he even capable of doing this? What if there had been a horrible mistake? If only she could remember what had happened!

Frustration bubbled quickly to the surface and she forced herself to calm down. Medically she knew that getting herself stressed and elevating her blood pressure would do her no favours. If she were patient, the answers would more than likely come to her. She repeated the words to herself several times, and realised how empty they must have sounded when she had muttered them to previous patients families. They certainly sounded empty to her own mind. What she needed was a distraction, something to take her mind away from the thoughts and queries. She very slowly began to flex her muscles, starting with her toes and working her way upwards. Toes, arch, calves, knees, thighs, buttocks, stom… A pain she had been expecting but which still shocked her lanced through her stomach muscles and settled hotly against her right ribcage. A soft burn filled her chest and she identified it as anger, and she knew that the sting of tears behind her eyelids was purely evidence of her frustration at herself. She closed her eye and willed her body back under control before anyone could witness it. She felt the burn of her chest ease slightly and made an effort to relax the muscles she had tensed when the pain had struck.

It was during this moment of forced relaxation that the first flashback occurred, and she thought it acutely cruel that her own mind would sabotage her attempts to ease her pain.

Having never experienced one she was surprised and appalled by the sheer force of the fragment of memory returning. A sudden series of Dolby surround, Technicolor images flashed across her consciousness like a child's flipbook.

She was standing in the kitchen, both hands clutching the worktop with a force she was unaccustomed to.

_Calvin standing toe-to-toe, towering over her and red in the face as spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. _

A flash of pain as his large hand made contact with the side of her face 

_Staring at the carpet below her face_

_His voice, screaming above her. His foot slamming into her stomach, stealing her breathe from her lungs. Fighting desperately to get it back._

_Her hands, curling into the thick carpet, trying to find purchase._

_His hand, curling in her hair, pulling her face to a better angle so he could slam her back to the ground with his fist._

When a firm hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged, the flash back to the here and now was a jolt her fragile system could have done without. Her sight focused for an instant, enough to make out the anxious and agitated form of her boss; before they glazed over with a sheen of tears she had no chance of stopping. Her breath, already laboured, hitched and hiccupped and she grasped vainly with the hand not wrapped in plaster at the gown covering her chest as she struggled with her intake of air. A panic she had known but forgotten seized her icily and she began to shake beneath the sheets, the pain it caused numbed slightly by the fresh rush of adrenaline being pumped into her system. A voice thundered above and around her and she heard, through the rush of blood and breath sounding in her ears, the sound of muffled footsteps as more people rushed to obey the commands being barked. A familiar sensation flooded her body and she felt the drug fight and win the battle with the adrenaline pooled in her stomach. A morphine-induced calmness seeped into her mind and blackened the residual images of her newly recovered memories. She felt a hand slide over her own and grasped weakly at it as the room, the noise, the pain and the memories slipped into oblivion with her.


	3. Chapter 3

Title:When the Dust Settles

Author:Little-Starling

Rating:PG (M in later chapters)

Spoilers:None

Authors Notes:Thank-you again for your support with this fic. As sad and needy as it seems, your reviews really do give me the push I sadly need to persevere. Things heat up a little in the next, longer, chapter.

Patricia Cameron studied the tall, cane wielding man with a level of scrutiny she only reserved for those who had the power or authority to affect the course or pattern of her daughters life. That included boyfriends, teachers, family and of course doctors. She had yet to be spotted standing in the doorway of her daughter's hospital room, and was glad for the few minutes to study this new visitor. At first she had assumed he was a friend or possible romantic attachment that Allison hadn't mentioned, who had taken time to visit her and pass on his well wishes. His lack of a white coat probably meant he wasn't a doctor, or at least not one who was on the clock at the moment. That opinion had changed as she observed his hands move over the different machines and contraptions with ease and expertise she knew had come from professional training and experience. And yet he had made no move to touch her, not even in a professional manner. No romantic connection then.

A friend perhaps? Colleague?

She had always considered herself a good judge of character and had been able to discern much throughout her life by the simple act of taking the time to really look at a person. As she considered the man whose back was facing her, she, almost by force of habit, let her mind roll over the picture he presented. It was blindingly obvious, at least to her that this man was in pain. Cane aside, he telegraphed this feeling loud and clear. It could be seen in the way he held his body, the tightness across his shoulders, the strain and subtle shaking of the leg not so obviously injured. This was a man who had learned to accept pain in his life and she felt a short stab of sympathy for the complete stranger in front of her. The second impression brought a momentary twitch to her lips. He cared little about what others thought of him. His rumpled clothes, unkempt hair and the slight stubble she could barely see on his chin were evidence enough of that. But it was the air of quiet defiance that tickled her, being a mother of three she had long ago honed her senses for such things. She mentally labelled him a grump, and even if later, she found him to be sweet and charming, he would remain in her mind as the overgrown teenager whose pain filled days were filled with small acts of rebellion.

Turning her gaze away from what had been a momentary welcome distraction, her eyes fell on the still and familiar outline of her daughter. Lying on her side and half buried under cosy blankets she appeared smaller and infinitely more vulnerable. She hadn't realised her hand was shaking until the scalding coffee she was holding sloshed over the cardboard rim and onto the skin of her hand. The shock of the almost cold heat caused her hand to spasm and she watched through her hiss of pain as the entire cup bounced wetly on the floor, half its contents painting the wall.

"Well that was intelligent"

Patricia looked up from studying her quickly reddening hand to face the object of her earlier scrutiny. A pair of amazingly ice blue eyes scowled slightly before dropping to glance at the hand she was presently nursing against her chest.

" And you are?"

Her voice, thankfully, had been steady and full of curiosity rather than animosity. The scowl deepened anyway.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Grump indeed.

" Patricia Cameron. Allison's mother. Your turn."

She moved past the imposing man towards the sink in the corner and turned the cold faucet on, letting it run for a moment before gingerly placing her hand under the spray. The cool of the water instantly took the heat away and she breathed a sigh of relief. A gruff voice from behind her had her turning her head in his direction.

" Gregory House. So you're whom I have to thank for the impossibly nice, overly caring and sickeningly sweet woman I'm forced to work beside on a daily basis. Can't thank you enough. Really. I'm sure Cameron will find some comfort in knowing that the virtues you instilled in her since she was running around the yard in pigtails were partly responsible for where she is today. I gotta tell ya mom, you did a bang up job."

Te gruff sarcasm in his voice caused a stir of protectiveness to stir in her gut and she had to work hard not to throw a scathing remark back at him. He was angry, that much was blaringly obvious. But now having the opportunity to look into his eyes she could see what she couldn't before. This was not a physical pain. She would have bet her last that the look in his eyes as they bore holes through her was very similar to the hurt that currently shined through her own.

The moment of silent staring was eventually broken by a soft snort coming from beneath the small mountain of blankets. Both sets of eyes refocused on the other side of the room, one pair on the bundle itself, the other on the Vitals monitor beside it. The heartbeat settled back into a regular rhythm and the room became still once more.

Patricia turned the water off and snatched some paper towels from the dispenser next to it. She cast a quick glance to the right.

"Feel better now?"

She turned to face him and rested her hip against the rim of the sink, her hand gently patting away the moisture from the other. She raised her eyes to meet his and watched as he studied her much the same as she had him, if only for a few seconds and then observed as he lowered his gaze to study the handle of his cane. It wasn't an apology, but it was damn close.

"So you're Allison's boss. She speaks highly of you whenever we get the chance to catch up."

"Did you speak with Dr Remeres?"

The change in conversation threw her for only a moment.

"I did. He explained the procedures and whatnot, most of it was gibberish to me, to be completely honest but I think I got the jist of it. He said she was going to be fine, everything after that went over my head. She's been asleep since I got here, it's probably the best thing for her."

She was glad when he nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment and possibly understanding.

"I was expecting her family before now. Did you come alone?"

An expected question, she thought.

" I would have been here sooner, god knows I wanted to, but Allison's dad hasn't been keeping well and he was going through a rough patch these past few days. I left as soon as my son arrived. I've been calling about ten times a day. I think I know just about every nurse in this wing by now."

" Well that's about 48 more than me."

She could believe it too.

She flinched very subtly when he moved towards her, his awkward gait even more pronounced, probably, she thought from the time standing in the one place. She straightened herself when he was standing in front of her and met his eyes fully, her curiosity shadowed by a slight foreboding at being so close to this gruff man. His hand though, was gentle as he took hers and turned it to peer at the damage done by the suicidal beverage.

" If self harm was your intension you didn't do a very good job. It'll sting like a bitch for a few hours but you wont need treatment. I'm sure your pals at the nurses station outside would be falling over themselves to get you an ice pack if you asked."

And then he was spinning away from her and limping towards the door.

" Dr House"

He stopped at the doorframe but didn't turn around.

" Will she be ok?"

A pause. She began to feel nerves at the bottom of her stomach.

"Dr Remeres already told you…."

"I know what Dr Remeres said. I'm asking you."

This time he did turn, albeit slowly, and she could see a sigh escape his body as his face lost its anger. He was staring at Allison, not her, when he spoke.

" She'll be fine."

And then he was gone.

Patricia stared at where he had been standing for a few moments, her mind wrapping around their entire exchange.

His last words were not an answer to her question she realised, but a reassurance to himself. Before she had a chance to ponder it further a croaky, wheezy, dry sounding voice sounded from across the room.

"Mom?"

She had never heard a sweeter sound.


End file.
